Eliwood: A Tale of Awesomeness, and other stories
by Raphiael
Summary: The story of Eliwood of Pherae, the baddest dude to ever wield a manly sword, and his sweet, sweet chica Lyn, plus other stories. A compilation of crackfic and drabbles for Elibe. Chapter 4: For My Lady, Kent/Lyn & Mark/Lyn.
1. Eliwood: A Tale of Awesomeness

Note for compilation: This is now a compilation of short crackfics and drabbles pertaining to Elibe. Expect weirdness.

**Eliwood: A Tale of Awesomeness**

**Author's note:** A fill for a request you may have seen floating around. **  
**

Once upon a time there was a lord named Eliwood. He was totally fucking badass. I'm talking, seriously the most asskicking, balls-to-the-wall bastard you will ever meet. Dude had red hair – like blood, because that's dark and edgy – and didn't wear the usual wimpy-as-fuck tunic and breeches that prissy lords might wear. No, Eliwood of Pherae was so fucking badass that he wore black leather, head to toe. Covered in dead cow, that guy. And did I mention his fire sword? Because bitch, you know he had a fire sword. Thing was eight feet long, pure steel and diamonds and onyx and other cool sounding materials I know fuckin' nothing about.

Yeah. That's how awesome Eliwood of Pherae was. So damn awesome his sword defies description. Not like those candy-ass fuckers with their rapiers and tiaras or whatever, no way.

Anyway, one day he was out with his bro Marcus, who was also badass. Marcus was so badass that – get this – he could fight on a horse. But! He could also fight OFF a horse! Now, how many badass motherfuckers do you know who can do that shit? I don't think you know any. But of course he wasn't as badass as his lord Eliwood, cuz Eliwood? You know he could shoot fuckin' fire out his nose if he wanted, and melt your brain with his eyes. Hell yeah.

There were some bandits or something, and Eliwood, being the badass dude he was, pwnt them all instantly with a smirk of sardonic win on his face.  
"Damn. I am so fuckin' cool," Eliwood said. And then he was all, "I need me a bitch."

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, there was Lyn. Now Lyn was one sexy, sexy chica. I'm talkin' Megan Fox plus Angelina Jolie plus that one chick you, reader, have always had a thing for. You know the one. Oh _baby_ you do.

Anyway, she was like that. But hotter, with a skirt that would get this story rated NC-17 if I went any further in detail. So I fuckin' won't, because Eliwood of Pherae was fuckin' WHOLESOME, you perv.

But yeah, she was seriously fuckin' sexy. And badass, too. No pansy-ass dancer chicks or chicks on flying fuckin' horses for Eliwood of Pherae, no way. Only candy-ass tiara lords went for that shit.

When she saw Eliwood, the badass motherfucker of Pherae, Lyn was just overcome by his sheer win-ness. "Oh, Eliwood," she gasped. "You're so sexy, we should get together, like, now."

Eliwood, being so damn cool and all, just flashed a smirk at his badass bro before saying, "Fuck yeah, let's do it."

And thus did the pimpin' times of Eliwood of Pherae and his awesome chica Lyn begin.

The end.


	2. The Millionaire's Blackmail Marriage Bed

**Notes:** another kink meme fill: Sain is a successful romance novelist, but all his writing takes inspiration from his... experience. What happens when his current partner finds out?

**The Millionaire's Blackmail Marriage Bed of Revenge**

_The slender redhead gasped lustily, her luscious bosom heaving like a storm-tossed ocean. She reached out, yearning for the warm, virile touch of her dark-haired tycoon between her milky white thighs, and grabbed hold of his massive, throbbing-_

Her cheeks hot, Priscilla tossed the paperback away from herself with a squeal, unable to take any more. Sadly, it wasn't the terrible writing that drove her away. It was the fact that this was eerily. . . . familiar. Sans the tycoon business, of course. And, well, she liked to think she wasn't THAT indecent in bed.

Her husband peered into the room, eyebrow raised. He'd been working diligently, surprisingly enough, on his next novel. He'd gotten a substantial advance, and if the sales of the last five had been any indicator, the proceeds afterwards could be even more generous.

"Something wrong, sweetcheeks?" he asked, the irreverent little smirk present despite his concern.

"N-n-nothing," she stammered, praying her cheeks weren't as red as she thought they were. Oh, she hoped her brother hadn't picked this up at all, that he'd been satisfied just knowing they sold well! It had been hard enough to convince him that Sain, a down-on-his-luck writer bouncing between jobs, hadn't just been digging for gold when he asked for her hand in marriage. After all, despite the scandals and gossip, the Cornwell family was still a financial powerhouse. If Raymond caught on, Priscilla feared, no amount of pleading from anyone, not even that odd girly fellow who'd just signed onto the household staff, could keep him from breaking Sain's face.

Sain padded into the bedroom and reached out for his wife, but his face fell as he spotted the book on the bedspread.

"I thought romance wasn't your cup of tea, Prissy?"

"I-I-I just wanted to support your work," she mumbled. Her imagination continued to paint a vivid picture of her brother, stumbling across the novel somehow, and immediately storming up to their swank little apartment to beat Sain into a bloody pulp. She wasn't sure how it would happen, but at this point, she was sure it would, and no amount of whining from that friend of his would stop it.

Sain sighed and shook his head. "So, ah, uh, did you, aha, like it?" He grinned, but she looked back, somewhere between stern and terrified. "Okay, okay, okay. I know. I should've asked, blah blah blah, whatever. But aren't you flattered?"

Suddenly, she stood up and jabbed her husband's chest. "Flattered? _Flattered?_ What I want to know is, who were the _first_ four books about? You said you had a different inspiration for each of them, didn't you?"

"Hey, listen, no need to get so uptight about it! They're just storiiiiiiiies! And hey, hey, you're my bestseller so far!"

"So far? Well, where are you going to get the _next_ one from, hmmmmmmmm?"

"Eh heh heh heh. . . . well, funny you should mention that. . . ."

"_Funny?_"

". . . I was about to come in and ask for a little bit of inspiration," Sain added quickly, the smirk reforming on his face.

"Not so fast," Priscilla snapped. "You're not getting out of this one so easily."

Sain pouted, looking more like a pathetic puppy than a best selling romance novelist at this point. "I swear, I haven't gotten any _inspiration_ since we got together, Sweetcheeks."

Knowing him, he wasn't talking about the cheeks on her face.

She shook her head and sighed. As much as she wanted to be angry, it just wasn't in her. "Fine, fine, I forgive you," she said at last.

Her husband immediately brightened up. "So, that means you aren't angry at me for divulging that thing you do with your tongue?"

"_**SAIN!**_"

"Whaaaat? I thought the rest of mankind would be grateful! Women everywhere should take notes! It's a compliment, Prissy!"

"I can't believe you! Do you take notes when we're in bed or something?"

By the look in Sain's eyes, she realized she never should have said that. He seemed to think it was a fantastic idea.


	3. I'll Make A Man Out Of You

**Notes:** Fill from the Fire Emblem Kink Meme on LJ: "Wallace gives Lucius the Manual of Knightly Prowess. Lucius follows it dutifully."

**I'll Make A Man Out of You**

_CLANG._

"Ah-"

_CLANG CLANG._

"Nnng, oof, come on-"

_CLANG CLANG CLANGCLANGCLANG._

"Oh no-!"

_CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG-CRASH!_

Wil peered out from his tent, expecting to see Wallace searching for him again. There was no way he wanted any part of that man's insane "training". Instead, he saw a figure, dwarfed by the oversized armor piled onto him and flailing on the ground like a turtle rolled onto its back. Wallace might have been an oaf, but there was no way he'd get himself into a situation, at least not without laughing like a madman about it. Cautiously, Wil came closer and noticed the long blonde hair poking out of the bulky armor.

"Lucius, what in blazes-"

"Not now!" the monk panted, making another pathetic effort to stand up. "I'm... circling the domain... at... top speed!"

_Circling the... oh no._ Wil fought the urge to slap his face and groan. Instead, he leaned over and offered his hand to the struggling monk. It looked as if the armor weighed more than he did.

"Maybe domain-circling isn't your strong suit, eh? Here, come on, I'll help you up."

Lucius hesitated, but finally accepted the hand. It took a few minutes for the reedy archer to pull him to his feet, but they succeeded nonetheless.

"Chapter seventeen... section eight... says accept aide from your comrades... as you would give it yourself," Lucius said, still fighting to catch his breath. Wil's eyes widened in surprise.

"You got that far? I only got..." Well, he'd gotten through about five pages before throwing the thing down in horror, but Lucius seemed so eager. He didn't need to know that. "Well, anyway, it doesn't matter. I really doubt it was intended for, ah, a man of the cloth like yourself. Maybe you should stick with your tomes and staves...?"

"Chapter twenty-nine, section three: 'Knightly prowess is not limited to knights- nay, every man, woman, and child can benefit!' " Lucius quoted. With a grunt and a wheeze, he lifted the heavy spear he'd dropped.

"Lucius-"

"No time to dally! I've still four more laps to make, and then five-hundred spear thrusts ahead! It was nice talking to you, Wil!"

Before Wil could object further, the clanging recommenced as Lucius waddled off, spear in hand, and a massive hand had clapped on his shoulder.

"GAHAHAHA! Now THERE'S a lad after my own heart! Now, Wil, you should be joining him! Knightly prowess doesn't just happen on its own!"

_Oh, sweet Elimine, how did he sneak up behind me?_

Later, Wil, sweaty, aching, and exhausted, asked Raven why he hadn't objected to his friend's insistence on knightly prowess.

"Are you kidding?" the mercenary had asked with a rare grin. "I haven't laughed that hard in years."


	4. For My Lady

**Note:** Yes, evil time goddess Anna. Also, names swapped to my preferred localization. Originally I typed "Shiida" to spare my anonymity. Got guessed anyway. I am so obvious sometimes.

Prompt was** "**Kent / Lyn ... _and_ Lyn / Tactician. Lyn discovers that Mark, underneath his hood, is Future!Kent, who has come back in time to save her life. (Yeah, I know, _crack_ much?)" Also written over about 2 months, when feverish, so.

**For My Lady**

It had always struck Lyn as odd, the way Mark kept so tight a grip on his hood. Whether in the harsh, howling winds of Ilia or the suffocating singe of Nabata, his hand always clutched his hood over his eyes, leaving only his stern lips exposed to the sun. Then again, Mark was confusing in so many ways, all of them infuriating. One minute touching her hair, asking how she fared, the next encouraging her to be closer with Kent, only making the conflict she felt over the two of them worse.

She wondered if Mark did it on purpose. Was he trying to drive her away? Was he really that cruel? Or maybe, it was that hood- maybe he was horribly scarred underneath, and he thought her a petty noblewoman who'd recoil at the sight of it. No, that was even worse. He couldn't think of her like _that_, right? No, she'd show him. No self-conscious tactician was going to make choices like that for her.

She made up her mind that night, as they finished setting up camp. Eliwood and Ninian were sitting together, talking about something. Wil and Rebecca were chatting and restringing their bows. Lucius looked as if he was praying for patience while Serra played with his hair. Raven and Hector were arguing about something - from the sound of it, it involved hand axes. None of them would notice if she slipped away from the gathering for a bit.

She opened the flap to the tactician's tent and found him reading one of his numerous tomes of strategy and history. She could only imagine the strength he had, to carry those heavy books on his back, everywhere they went.

He looked up, his usually stern lips twisting into the reluctant smile she knew so well. "Yes, Lyn?" Her stomach went into knots at that, just like it did when Kent could be convinced to say it that way, instead of his usual "Lady Lyndis".

"I-I wanted to ask you something," she said. Her thoughts were full of curses. She'd never stammered before, and to do it now, when she meant to prove a point? She forced strength into her words, and asked, "Why do you always wear that hood over your face?"

The tactician was silent for some time. Lyn watched as his exposed lips twisted and tightened, and his hands, too calloused and strong for the scholar he claimed to be, tightened into stubborn fists.

"My apologies, Lyn. It's just a few scars I'm ashamed of."

Lyn's eyes narrowed. "You really think I'm the type to care about something like that?" she snapped. Somehow, the confirmation of her fears made her more angry than sad.

"Of course not, Lyn, I just-"

"Than why won't you let me see your face?"

The silence lasted far longer this time, as the tactician's hands moved to grip his hood and Lyn tried to peer in to see more. All she was able to spy was a shock of red hair before the tactician finally turned away.

"Please, if that's all, leave me," he said.

Despite everything in her wanting to say "no", Lyn did just that.

As Lyn left the tent, the tactician let his hood fall from his face with a heavy sigh. It was harder than he'd expected, keeping so many secrets, not only from her, but from the others. Sain, especially, seemed a bit too knowing when he had been positioned with Priscilla.

"How did you know I fancied her?" he asked. And the tactician had chuckled and replied, "Don't you fancy everyone?" before thinking. Playful banter, suited to a boon companion. Not a tactician.

But Sain had only smiled and answered, "Yes, sir!"

The tactician had taken on his father's name. "Mark". Simple enough, easy to recall. It had been a suggestion from the woman who had started all of this, the woman who had appeared before him when his mind went blank with grief that night, so long ago.

"My dear Sir _Mark_, how is your mission panning out?"

And speak of the devil - that might have been what she was, or perhaps a goddess - she was there.

"Anna," he answered, turning to face her. She smiled at the sight of his thinning red hair, the tight frown on his lips, even at the ruined half of his face, taken by the fiery breath of a dragon that never should have been. "Did you not say you would not interfere?"

She smiled and gave a wink, pressing her index finger to her cheek just so, a gesture that nearly always signaled trouble for her pawn. "Ah, but you are my pet project!" she sang. "I can't let you struggle here all on your own, now, can I?"

Perhaps a devil. Perhaps a goddess. "Mark" could never quite decide, and Anna's own words were little help.

He still recalled the night they'd met, if one could call having a strange woman appear out of nowhere a true meeting. It was worse than any night he could have ever imagined. He - his hand clutched to his face, lungs and throat aching from the scream that tore forth from them, the burning in his eye and his ear and his scalp and his neck. His lady, just behind him, blessed sword clenched tight in her hand, running ahead with his name on her lips. Not out of love, but out of friendship - nothing like the way he shouted her name back, begged for her to turn back. Nothing like the way he screamed when the fire overtook her and left her in a crumpled heap, when he realized he could not even crawl to her corpse's side to weep.

It was then that Anna appeared. Chipper smile, gentle hands, soothing embrace. He wondered if she was an angel, then. He'd make no such mistakes today.

"Who are you?" he'd croaked.

"I am many things to many people," she had chirped, with that eerie point at her cheek and the slightest of winks. "But here, just for you, I am Anna. All this? I can undo, for a price."

He learned later that Anna's prices were steep, but that he had received a discount of sorts, that she had many pawns, often more unfortunate than he.

"I met a prince, once," she told him. "Handsome boy, definitely easy on the eyes, but a touch too naive for my liking. He wanted to save his homeland from one empire or another - oh, no, you wouldn't have heard of it, don't trouble yourself, dear - and so, I helped him, pulled all the strings just right. But you know, he didn't come out of that so well, even with his little country back. A fun game to play, in that place? Give a man what he thinks he wants, take his real desires away. For him, plink! An arrow aimed just right, a pegasus falling from the sky, a lovely funeral for a princess... Ah, it was lovely! But I have better plans for you."

"Mark" learned slowly, but surely, of her many games. Whispers in the ear of a friend of that prince in the guise of a withered magician, promises of peace and prosperity sung in the dreams of a red-haired fool, madness that gripped that fool's bloodline and drove it into ruin.

"One time, I pretended to be a demon," she said to him once, with the cheery grin he'd grown to dread. "A big, ugly one with giant teeth - oh, that was fun! Be thankful you didn't ask for me then, 'Mark'. I've given back the dead before, but you don't want them like that."

But "Mark" would have taken his dead back in any state. Anna knew that. She seemed to know everything about him. It was she who'd suggested she take on the name of his father - whose homeland of Bern she knew as well, just as she knew his mother hailed from Pherae, and their faith to Caelin had been tried and tried again.

"I like you," she said. "I want to give you what you want, but of course it will cost you. Rewinding time, it isn't too hard, but things won't be simple. You recall that tactician of yours, don't you?"

Of course "Mark" recalled - the snotty little brat with the flowery name, whose foolish techniques had sent his lady running headlong into death.

"You will kill her," Anna said, smiling wide at him. "Kill her, and fill the role she filled. Lead your lady's army to victory, and save her from death with your strength. I know you're able."

But there were strings attached. He knew there were, for Anna hinted at them in giggles in his tent late at night. His lady would never have eyes for him, no. She would delight in the eyes of that nobleman Hector, let him stay by her side just as she had in his own tragic timeline. And he, he learned, would leave Lycia forever, sow seeds of war at every turn.

"It's so much fun to watch you," she sang at him then. "I guess destiny isn't on your side, now, is it? Don't worry. It never is. Not for anyone."

"Leave me, Anna," he hissed. It was the last night they had before facing the sorcerer who'd caused all this, and then the beast he would call forth from beyond the gate. He wondered, sometimes, if she'd whispered in Nergal's ear as well, for fun, if _all_ of this was truly because of her.

"Suit yourself," she chirped, and then she was gone.

"Mark" recalled the night well. Sitting with Sain in front of the campfire, confessing to him what he'd already known - that he loved the lady Lyndis, that he so dearly wanted to be by her side, that he dare not say a word lest she pity him. And Sain had agreed. Their lady was happy with Lord Hector, wasn't she? There was no cause to burden her heart with the knowledge of his feelings.

Perhaps a change of plans was not in Anna's vision. Perhaps he could at least try.

"Mark" retied his cloak and found Kent at the campfire, just as he had been that night. The knight looked up at him just as Sain was shooed away.

"Tell her," "Mark" whispered to Kent. "Tell her everything tonight."

The knight's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but "Mark" only smiled. "You know what I mean," he said, before turning away.

At the end of the day, "Mark" stayed Kent from charging ahead, and his lady as well. There would be no foolish charges, no heroic sacrifices, not on his orders. For his lady, he was the greatest tactician Elibe would ever see, a man whose words would lead to no deaths but those of his enemies, a man whose talents could throw a continent into chaos on a whim. Perhaps that was Anna's plan, more than anything. Nergal, he realized, was only a prelude to the horror her fantasies could unleash. "Mark" would be along for the ride, but as he watched his lady sidle up close to Kent's steed and reach for his familiar fingers, he felt a surge of victory.

"I expected that," Anna chirped from behind him. "I like it. An unexpected twist, Hector going off with a spunky pegasus knight - I'll try not to kill her the same way I killed that Caeda girl, that wouldn't be fun at all - and your lady, with you - well, not you. It's cute, even if it all ends the same way, every time. So, 'Mark', you have succeeded. What now?"

Just then, his lady ran to his side. "Mark," she said, ignorant of the demon-goddess at his side. "I just. I just wanted to thank you. And to apologize." Before he could protest, her lips were on his unscathed cheek, her hand clenched tight in his. "I will never forget you."

"And I, you," "Mark" answered, careful not to let her see more than his smile. "This was the least I could do for my lady." 


End file.
